


These Cold Nights

by buttcatcher



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Geralt being impervious to the cold, M/M, Oops, i was bored at work and decided to do this, this is basically just a tiny songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:40:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22850350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttcatcher/pseuds/buttcatcher
Summary: Jaskier wasn’t complaining.It was shocking, really; an anomaly that would probably never happen again, but evenheknew when to keep his mouth shut.The tensely suppressed air of violence and anger rolling off Geralt made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Or, itwouldif they weren’t currently freezing their asses off in a ransacked little shed on the Mahakam Mountains.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 214





	These Cold Nights

Jaskier wasn’t complaining.

It was shocking, really; an anomaly that would probably never happen again, but even _he_ knew when to keep his mouth shut.

The tensely suppressed air of violence and anger rolling off Geralt made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Or, it _would_ if they weren’t currently freezing their asses off in a ransacked little shed on the Mahakam Mountains. 

But that was neither here nor there.

The fact was, while Jaskier could barely feel his fingers and toes through his soaked through doublet and breeches, Geralt looked completely unbothered by the cold. The fur lined cloak the broad man donned surely kept him toasty. Actually, did the white-haired man even need winter clothing? Jaskier had no idea if his mutations were lacking in the area of weather proofing but wondering about the nuances of witcher abilities wasn’t high on his list of pressing issues at the moment.

No, the number one problem was that he had no idea why Geralt was so angry, pulling various coats and blankets from Roach’s packs and roughly throwing them beside the large horse on the rocky, thankfully snow free ground. The wind whipped around the weathered wood of the run-down shack—more like a dilapidated stable, really—leaking through the gaps between the boards and rolling over them in a cruel gale dusted with snow. Even Roach looked unhappy about the situation they wandered into, her legs tucked underneath her massive body for extra warmth as her ears followed Geralt’s movements. 

“You know,” Jaskier drawled from where Geralt had forced him to rest against Roach’s flank, “I don’t think you truly appreciate Roach as much as she deserves. She’s such a good girl; I’ve never seen a horse come when someone whistles for them like a dog.”

His voice set those broad shoulders on edge, Jaskier could tell. It was obvious his endless stream of talking was irritating the usually taciturn man, though Jaskier couldn’t focus enough to care much about it. “Jaskier,” That growling baritone voice called out as those strong, scarred hands rifled through the bard’s meager pack. “Where is the cloak I bought you?”

“Ah,” Jaskier tutted, leaning as much of his back against the mare behind him as he could and relishing in her warmth, even if she smelled of sweat and, well, _horse_. “It got stolen the last time our paths diverged. I tried to convince the group of bandits they wouldn’t have much use for it in the middle of summer, but they weren’t the listening type.”

Jaskier could practically _feel_ the frustration rolling off Geralt. It was distracting. “Bard,” The witcher hissed, “you’re human. You can’t be up in these mountains with only those flimsy clothes for protection. Why did you think I told you to dress warm?”

At this, Jaskier threw a scathing look at his travel companion. “Well, pardon my luxurious outfit, Geralt. I seem to recall a lack of warning that we were going to the _Mahakam Mountains_ chasing some kind of ice monster when we took up traveling again.”

That quip earned him a heavy fur blanket to the face.

“You didn’t even wear shoes meant for travel. Really, how have you survived this long?” Geralt sighed, exasperated. Roach seemed to be watching the two of them bicker with vague disinterest. 

“Through sheer spite and the appreciation of an audience.” 

“Astounding.”

“I mean,” Jaskier continued, “I don’t really feel that cold? I don’t think that’s a good thing, but my teeth aren’t trying to crack themselves from chattering anymore, so.”

A heavy sigh filled the air in their little makeshift refuge. Jaskier was about to open his mouth and ask if Geralt really _did_ need that coat before said garment was being shrugged off achingly thick shoulders and being tossed onto him, the fur warmer than a summer’s day and stinking vaguely of monster guts and horse. 

It was a scent he had grown to associate with Geralt. Sure, it wasn’t exactly a pleasant odor, but it was enough to warm his heart whenever he caught the scent on his own clothing, the mixing of their smells inevitable when they spent so much time together in such close proximity. 

And if he pulled the hood a little closer to his nose to subtly scent the smell he associated with adventure and comfort, well, it was just for his own peace of mind. 

“The storm will most likely last well into the morning,” Geralt huffed as he sat himself down beside Jaskier and tugged the edge of the cloak over the bard’s feet, ensuring he was as covered from the elements as possible. It would have been a sweet gesture if Roach hadn’t leaned over and began nipping at Jaskier’s hair, no doubt wondering why their travel companion suddenly smelled a lot more like her owner. “As soon as it stops, we’ll have to keep moving.”

The warmth of Roach pressing against his back and the heat of the cloak tucked around him had Jaskier’s eyes drooping with exhaustion. They hadn’t made it far up the mountain before a freak snowstorm caught them in its midst, pushing them to seek shelter lest they freeze to death or fall off a cliff covered in snow. Geralt was surely upset about the lack of progress they made that day but, in that moment, Jaskier couldn’t care less. 

If it meant he got to lean against the shoulder of the man he loved, then he would weather any kind of storm with a smile.

“What are you thinking about?” Geralt murmured over the occasional nickers from Roach and the creak of the wood shack, the space they created for themselves warm and comforting. If the cold bothered the witcher, he surely didn’t show it. 

“Thinking of a song,” Jaskier replied, his voice slightly muffled against scorching skin. 

“Hmm. Don’t know why I would expect anything else.”

“Rude.” Jaskier pouted against his lover’s skin, a steady hum rising in his chest when he realized Geralt was leaning into his touch, silently encouraging him to continue without words. It wasn’t often his songs were requested while they were traveling, so with a secret smile hidden beneath Geralt’s jaw, Jaskier put lyrics to the hum he started. 

_“This night is cold,_  
_So's the wind that blows,_  
_Through our lands,_  
_And who still walks now,_  
_Is a poor fool,_  
_Or on the way,_  
_To the lover that every trip is worth._

_Oh,_  
_Open up, let me inside,_  
_Your lover stands in the moonlight,_  
_This night is so cold,_  
_So open up,_  
_For tomorrow it'll be too late.”_

The howling wind made the whole song more somber than it was meant to, the biting cold around them lending sadness to the tune that Jaskier hadn’t intended. His audience didn’t seem to mind though, Roach making the occasional snuffle noise and nosing at them while Geralt made one of his eloquent grunts.

“Don’t sleep yet,” Geralt murmured as thin, lute calloused fingers searched under the cloak to find thicker, paler ones. “We have to make sure you don’t die of hypothermia.”

“Yes dear,” Jaskier mumbled back in response as he tucked his face against Geralt’s neck the best he could, his nose instantly feeling warmer when it brushed against the hot skin and stubble of the other man. Damn witchers.

A huff of a laugh disturbed some of the hair on his head, and Jaskier couldn’t bite back a satisfied hum. Yes, they might be stranded on a snowy mountain during what is quite possibly the most vicious snowstorm Jaskier had ever experienced, but at least he wasn’t alone.

**Author's Note:**

> The song is Diese Nacht ist Kalt by Faun.


End file.
